Broken Arrows
by Sousukes-Girl
Summary: Someone from Team Arrow has been kidnapped and held hostage. Oliver helps put the pieces back together. Hurt/comfort heavy, no ships, friendship/family fic with a bit of a case. Not beta'ed, please pm me if you are interested in doing that for me.
1. Chapter 1

Standard disclaimer: I do not own the characters, they belong to the CW and DC Comics.

AN: I am both upset and excited that the bad guy I have chosen to use is one that has just been announced for season 3! And here I thought I was being all original! This has been edited by myself, but no beta as of yet, please let me know if you are interested in that as this story is not over yet. Also, the majority of this was typed on my phone... so I am sure there are some mistakes that I have yet to catch. Enjoy.

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"Oliver, I found her." He had never heard such fantastic words in all his life. His friend, driver and bodyguard continued speaking, but he couldn't focus. He could only grasp at the knowledge that she had been found.

"Is she alive?" He interrupted tersely.

"My sources don't know for certain, but it is their belief that she is. Oliver, we found her, let's go get our girl."

"I'm geared up already, text me the address and any intel." With that Oliver dropped the call and revved his bike into motion and shot down the narrow ally.

He felt the text vibrate its receipt and glanced quickly at the information therein, clenching his fist at the realization that she had been so close this whole time. Quickly taking the next available left, the billionaire hero mentally prepared himself for what was to come. He refused to believe that she was dead and that this was a recovery mission, as far as he was concerned, this was a rescue.

Less than ten minutes after his brief conversation with John, the Arrow came to a quick stop outside of an abandoned factory in the Glades. It was a two story brick building enclosed inside a chain link fence. There was minimal lighting on the exterior, and he could only make out two individuals guarding what looked to be the exit. There wasn't anyone else in sight, no rotating personnel walking the perimeter, no radio check-ins. With practiced ease, Oliver lifted his bow and took both miscreants while on the move.

He saw them both drop, instantly dead with an arrow each to their heart, as he sprinted to the doors they were supposedly watching. With a fast glance through the rectangular window, he could see the way was clear, and promptly opened the door, bracing for the alarm that was sure to sound. With a small lift of his shoulders at the lack of guards and alarms, he cautiously made his way down the hallway, bow at the ready, nocked arrow in place.

Oliver looked into every room as he passed, making sure they were clear of adversaries or his target; seeing all of the rooms empty he hastily made his way further into the building. The last door on his right, before the intersection of hallways, revealed a dingy cot, without sheets or a blanket, and a wooden chair. A shredded piece of bright pink fabric snagged his attention, bringing him fully into the room. Lowering his weapon he glanced around, taking in all of the details, and getting an idea of just what this room was, her cell. There were tatters of pink clothing and the remains of what once was a fashionable high heel, though the heel was now missing.

Looking to the bed made his stomach turn. There were clear signs of blood, old and new, all over the lumpy bed roll-turned-mattress. Upon further inspection, the room itself had traces of blood as well, the floor and on some of the walls; dried a dark reddish brown with which he was so familiar. He clenched his jaw so tightly that he actually heard his teeth grind together, before he took a deep steadying breath. Realization dawned that though whatever caused this amount of blood to be spattered around the room and staining the bed had to have been painful and inflicted over time, it was not nearly enough to fear her demise. With one last glance around the room, he again nocked an arrow and proceeded on his quest, fueled all the more to find her and find her fast.

Exiting her jail cell, he saw he was at a "t" shaped intersection. He could either turn left or right. To the left there were only a few remaining doors before it reached it's end, but the right seemed to go further and ended at a double set of doors. Trying to make his decision as quickly as possible, he made up his mind to secure the left side of the building first, and then the right. As he turned to his left he suddenly heard shouting from the opposite direction. He quickly changed course and practically ran the full length of the hallway, until he was right outside the door, which was cracked open. What he heard chilled him to the bone.

"Just give him up! I already know it is Oliver Queen that is the Arrow Vigilante. Why won't you just say it? Break already!" A woman's voice screeched in obvious anger.

He pushed the door open slowly, hoping the hinges were well oiled, cringing when one protested its movement with a small squeak. Holding his breath, Oliver remained as still and quiet as possible, given his adrenaline was on over drive, waiting for all hell to rain down on him. He was surprised to hear the ranting of the irate woman continue, without pause, but terrified at the content of the tirade as the words and their meaning started to take shape in his mind.

"Oliver deserves better than you! You are weak, you can't even defend yourself! Knowing his secret is a liability to him; you will eventually break and tell, or you will get caught by police hacking for him, and you will give him up to save yourself! I cannot have that; he deserves some one strong standing by his side, someone able to fight alongside him, someone like me!"

Oliver was able to move fully into the room halfway through the diatribe and what he saw stopped him in his tracks. Every fiber of his being urged him to rush into the room to protect the injured woman hanging by chains from the rafters far above, but he knew that would likely cause the crazed woman to use the gun she was waving around and he couldn't have that.

Instead, Oliver quickly took in his surroundings; the production floor was large, easily half a football field and directly in front of him were a series of four foot tall conveyors that wrapped around the room, with an opening to his right where they abruptly ended, as if the salvage crew abandoned the project before it was completed. Beyond the conveyors were miscellaneous pieces of defunct equipment scattered sporadically between him and his goal. From his vantage point, he did not have a clear shot at the gun-wielding redhead and he knew that he would either have to get closer for a better shot, or climb the metal stairs to his left that lead to the catwalk that encircled the entire room.

Oliver wanted to be as close to his target as possible when he took down his opponent so that once she was dispatched, he could focus his attention directly on the barely conscious blood covered girl. He decided to inch forward at a crouch, bow held out to the right to keep from tripping him, and his left hand ghosting along the conveyor to his left to help him keep his balance.

He was so focused on staying quiet and getting closer that he didn't realize two men had entered the room behind him. They were upon him before he even knew of the threat and he lamented not checking out the rest of the building first. Thankfully they were not expecting to see him either, so their guns were not yet drawn. The first man charged at him, lowering his shoulder as he got closer in a classic football maneuver, hoping to knock the green clad vigilante on his back. Oliver turned to face his new opponents and was able to feint to the left as the second and smaller man tried to throw a punch.

As Oliver dodged to the side, he was able to push the first attacker further behind him into the conveyor, using the man's own momentum against him and to his own advantage. With the sudden movement to the side, the secondary attacker only managed to clip the Arrow's jaw, but was over balanced, affording Oliver the opportunity to get a few hits in himself.

He lunged for the smaller of the two, bow pulled in tight, then snapped it forward, hitting the man in the temple, dropping him to the ground unconscious. Oliver turned his attention to the remaining thug and they circled each other for a moment until the large brute rushed forward.

He again attempted to barrel into Oliver, but the arrow the vigilante let loose was faster, catching the man in the chest, halting his forward motion and dropping him in his tracks. The arrow didn't directly hit his heart, but he wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

The commotion garnered the attention of the lunatic, something he was actively trying to avoid, and for this very purpose. When the red headed woman saw the Arrow, an overly large smile cracked her face and her eyes widened in pleasure. She quickly moved behind the petite blonde trussed up beside her and put the gun to her bloodied temple calling out, "why if it isn't Oliver Queen himself. The Arrow, vigilante, hero. This isn't quite how I wanted us to get reacquainted, but I guess it will just have to do!"

Oliver moved forward on swift feet, arrow at the ready, sighted on what appeared be a scar over her heart. He lowered his bow, when upon realizing what kind of target she was providing she ducked behind her hostage, just a small portion of her head showing above the bloody shoulder.

This was his first opportunity to really see the woman up close and his heart sank as he started categorizing her wounds; he could tell by the way her shoulders were at different heights that one was dislocated, and blood covered her from head to toe, staining blonde tresses a much deeper shade. Her head was bowed forward towards her chest and she was completely lax in the manacles, clearly unconscious. What little he could see of her beneath the crimson of fresh blood and the dark rust of dried was a multitude of bruises. They covered her, seemingly every available surface. His assessment only took a moment, but he was both furious and sickened by what he saw.

"She better be alive." He ground out through clenched teeth.

"Only because of your inconvenient timing, Ollie." She smiled.

"Why? Why did you do this?" He pleaded.

"That's simple, silly, for you. For us." She blinked, thinking the answer was obvious.

"For," he paused, confusion apparent, "for us?"

"Yes, Ollie, she would have come between us; already was coming between us. Don't you see?" She moved slightly from behind her shield, trying to see him better, imploring with her eyes.

"I don't understand; I don't even know you. How could she come between us?" He was starting to get angry and it was beginning show.

"Don't even know me? You don't even know me? Mr. Queen, I am your biggest fan! I have followed your work since your return from the island. Your work at Queen Consolidated, then as the Arrow, everything! I have been there every step of the way, cheering you on, watching. Then she comes along and snags your attention. I knew she would be a problem, She would distract you from your true potential, your purpose, me. I can help you, protect you, fight alongside you. I have been trained, special forces, I won't break under torture, no one will know your true identity from me. But this one, she's weak. Though she never told me who you were, she hasn't been able to withstand everything I have put her through. Look at her! She doesn't deserve you, Ollie!" With that, she grabbed a handful of hair and jerked the blonde's head up sharply, showing Oliver a bruised and battered face, covered in dried blood.

He jerked his bow back in place and let loose an arrow as soon as the option presented itself, hitting her high in the shoulder, effectively knocking her backwards and away from her captive. At the same time some one rushed him from behind, throwing him to the floor, bow sliding across the ground and out of reach.

Not in the mood, Oliver twisted, grabbed an arrow from his quiver and slammed it into his attackers neck. Blood splattered his face but the man was no longer a threat. He jumped to his feet and raced towards the bound girl in the center of the room, belatedly realizing the red head was no where to be seen. He honestly couldn't even care, he only had eyes for the injured blonde.

He reached her side in a few rushed steps, immediately placing two fingers to her neck, not taking a breath until he found a pulse, weak, but present. Oliver unlatched the cuffs from around her wrists, thankful a key was not actually required, and gently lowered her into his arms, cradling her to his chest. She groaned quietly as his arm came into contact with her back, but she didn't awaken. He leant her forward and almost threw up when he saw the state of her back, he knew what made those marks, and he was horrified that it had ever happened to her.

He opened up his comm link and started talking, inherently knowing Diggle would already be on the other end, not expecting all the chatter that greeted him. He knew everyone was worried, but he had to practically yell to get their attention, "hey! Shut up already, I do not need any back up, I need Dig here, now. I need to look her over, its bad guys. I need some research done in the mean time: female, red head, scar over her left breast in the shape of a heart, knew who I was, said we have met, biggest fan. Dig, how close are you?"

As he was talking, he was looking for and cataloging injuries; he knew about the dislocated shoulder and the lacerations to her back already, but with each pass over her body he found more: broken wrist, swollen feet, deep bruising all over her legs. It was hard to tell anything else as she was filthy and covered in blood. Her blonde hair was matted with it and what little remained of her clothes was stained rust.

She moaned and started moving weakly, mumbling incoherently in his arms, then he watched her back arch and heard her scream in pure agony. He began talking, not really paying any mind to what he was saying, just trying to comfort, when he heard Dig in his ear asking for his location.

He told his friend to meet him out back, and then he felt a soft touch to his cheek, prompting him to look back at his charge in time to hear her mumble a disjointed "you're bleeding" before her hand fell back to her lap and her eyes closed. He told her to focus on him and that she was safe now, but he could tell she was going in and out of consciousness. He stood abruptly with his precious cargo and hastily but carefully retraced his path from earlier. He tucked her head into his shoulder and ran out the rear door and directly to the town car parked right outside, climbing into the back, cradling her in his arms the entire way to the hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, they are owned by The CW and DC Comics.

AN: Still unbeta'd. Thank you softball91 for being the first to favorite this story! Everyone, please review if you have the time and inclination; I would love to have some feed back and constructive criticism.

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Her eyes fluttered open with a pained groan. Confusion apparent in her blue orbs as a face materialized from the hazy fog of her brain. It was large and not quite feminine enough to qualify as attractive; with bright green eyes, framed by deep red hair, staring at her patiently. The nose was large and strong, a defining feature; but it was the mouth that really drew her attention. It was broken into a wide grin, splitting the woman's face into two halves. The top half seemed friendly enough with the exotically colored eyes and pale skin but the bottom portion, with the overly large teeth and the eager, if not hungry, smile were what drew her attention.

She didn't know how long she had been held captive, or just how many times she had awakened and lost consciousness to this particular visage, but she did know that she was tired and in pain. Her arms were strained to the point of agony above her and her wrists stung with the bite of cold steel digging into her flesh. Her weary brain tired to catch up to the present and her memories started flooding back to her, starting with her kidnapping.

Felicity had left Queen Consolidated late; multiple meetings had to be rescheduled, lunch dates penciled in for some new clients on a surprise visit, and two lavish parties had to be planned, all in the coming few days. Felicity had been working all day at a feverish pace just to keep up. The caterers and venues were already booked, the menus approved, the guest speakers lined up and already planning their speeches. With those events out of the way, she had turned her attention to re-working Oliver's schedule so that he could meet with the potential clients throughout the week, with luncheons planned for each day and scheduled tours of both Starling City and Queen Consolidated.

Felicity was a petite blonde with a slender feminine figure. She wore stylish thick black-rimmed glasses, which framed her bright blue eyes, and contrasted greatly with the blonde of her hair; which was in its usual pony tail, pulled tightly back by an elastic band. She was wearing a black pencil skirt, a loudly colored pink silk blouse, with matching pink heels that showed off her brightly green painted toe nails. She was ready to go home and change into her pajamas.

She was beat. She just wanted to go home to a glass of wine and her streaming movies; peaceful and quiet, that was her plan. She'd already informed Oliver, both her boss at QC and her partner in their nightly Arrow business, that she wouldn't be at the Foundry that night but that he would see her bright and early at Queen Consolidated the next morning, and promptly reminded him to keep it low key and stay safe in her absence. His return smile lit up his boyish face, and he promised to do just a quick patrol before heading home himself. Her boss was tall with broad muscled shoulders, which she knew to be covered in countless scars and tattoos. He had close cropped dirty blonde hair and his usual 5-day stubble gracing his chin and jaw line. He was impeccably dressed, with a clean crisp white button down shirt, fitted grey hand tailored suit and hand tooled leather shoes. She returned his smile with a blindingly bright one of her own, turned on her heel and headed out the door.

She was never worried leaving the office, it was in a good part of town and was always well lit. There were always people milling about, traffic and security cameras at every corner and light, and often times a beat cop patrolling his rounds. So, it came as a complete shock when a hand slipped around her face, affixing an awful smelling rag to her nose and mouth. She didn't actually know what chloroform smelled like, but her mind must have instinctively known the inherent danger behind the odor, because she immediately went into a series of motions taught to her by Diggle, in an attempt to ingrain in her a sense of self-defense.

The tall dark skinned security guard and driver of Mr. Queen would have been extremely proud of her as she stomped, with all of her might, her attacker's in-step and would have been thrilled as her elbow met, with great force, his nose. She was awfully proud of herself, for all of three seconds, at the blood that spurted from his deviated septum, until she felt a hand in her hair. Her head was wrenched backwards painfully as a secondary attacker pulled her towards him, while at the same time covering her mouth with a big meaty hand. What would have been her scream for help, instead turned into a muffled cry. It should have at least roused some help, but she knew it was too late at night. There weren't enough bystanders around, and even if there had been, she was already in the back of a nondescript white van; unoriginal, but a classic - the kidnapping, not the van, she guessed the van as a 97' Chevy Astro- and speeding off to a very unwanted yet unknown destination.

The first time she had awakened, she had not been disoriented, though she did not have any idea where she was. She had sat up abruptly to find a woman seated in front of her on a plain wooden chair. She was not beautiful in the traditional sense, but was exotic enough to hold her attention. She was wearing a fitted black leather jacket over an emerald green low-cut top, exposing a heart shaped scar over her left breast, and expensive hand tailored dark denim jeans. Her feet were ensconced in fine Italian leather and her hands were resting calmly in her lap. She introduced herself as a "Ms. Smith," clearly an alias, and informed her that she had a few simple questions and that if she would just answer them truthfully and with haste, she would be out and on her merry way without much of a fuss. Felicity hadn't responded, but looked at the redhead to proceed. She'd asked very simple questions indeed: Who was the Arrow? Where was he? Where were his headquarters?

She sat there, on the threadbare mattress, with her now bare feet on the cold cement floor. Her head hurt, and she was trying to figure out just what she should do. She knew that eventually Oliver would notice her absence, but that would not be until the morning at least. She wasn't certain if anyone had seen her abduction, so she could not count on the Police having informed Oliver of her status either. Her best guess was that her disappearance would not be investigated until the next afternoon at least, depending on the current time, of course.

Her captor had been less than thrilled with her lack of response. When the IT girl didn't answer soon enough, the intimidating woman leaned forward and backhanded her across her cheek, snapping her head to the side. Felicity was so completely shocked by the abrupt change in the woman's demeanor, that she couldn't even compute what had happened. She looked forward again to see that she had resumed her seat and was calmly looking at her to see if her attention to the side of her face via her well manicured hand, would now garner the questions being answered.

Knowing that this would not go well, at all, Felicity squarely looked her captor in the eye, and informed her that she would not tell her anything about anyone or anything. She may have also mentioned what she could do with certain parts of her anatomy in relation to a goat, but she couldn't quite remember at this point. All she remembers is that a beating ensued, the likes of which she had never heard of, nor ever thought to apply to herself.

She was thankful when the woman decided that she had had enough in that department. But then she started using tasers and cattle prods. Her heart gave out once from electrocution, and ironically she had to be shocked back into a normal sinus rhythm. Ms. Smith stopped with that form of torture shortly after she started, as Felicity's body just couldn't handle it and it wasn't as fun for her to participate in, though she did inform her that her hoarse screams were very enjoyable to hear; She likened it to Mozart, a composer that she would now never be able to enjoy again, assuming she ever got out alive.

She recalled the last session with painful clarity, as she was still in the same position; her wrists were encircled with manacles, which were attached to a length of chain hanging from the ceiling far above. She was on her knees, but just barely, thus straining her shoulders to the point of pain. Blood was sluggishly flowing from her bruised and battered wrists, trailing down her arms, intermingling with the dried blood and grime. Her clothing, what little she had left, was in tatters around her, leaving her back fully exposed to the cold damp air. The lacerations on her back were bleeding freely. There were multiple open wounds and each pounded painfully with her heartbeat. She sucked in a stuttered breath, lips trembling with the effort.

Ms. Smith was just inches in front of her face; she could feel her breath ghosting over her cheeks and smell the garlic from what must have been her lunch? Dinner? She couldn't pluck up enough to care at this point. She could tell the woman was angry, and that never boded well for her.

"I am going to ask one last time. I know you are aware of his identity. I have sources at SCPD that confirm your connection. Just tell me his name, and I can release you from this pain." She practically purred in her ear.

She couldn't have spoken even if she wanted to, her voice was long gone at this point, but she did the next best thing, she attempted to spit on her face; she was so dehydrated, that it didn't do a thing, but her captor got the point and it sent her over the top. She stood abruptly and reached for the holster at her side which the injured blonde vaguely recalled was empty at all previous encounters, probably so that she wouldn't be tempted to use it on her uncooperative hostage, but she couldn't really be bothered to think too in depth about it at present. She found she couldn't dredge up the ability to care as she pointed the barrel at her forehead, she was yelling at her, but she couldn't even really hear her anymore. She sluggishly tried to focus on the words and attempted to respond that she didn't want to die but that she could shove off, but the words just wouldn't come.

Instead she sagged completely against her chains, and heard a resounding pop from her right as her world was bathed in darkness.

Her eyes cracked open blearily, everything fuzzy and disjointed. She heard a low soothing drone from behind her and felt a comforting weight pressed against her back. If she didn't know any better she would claim her boss was cradling her in his arms, but then the pain broke through and any coherent thought she had was gone as blinding white agony shot through her entire body. Her back arched as she hoarsely screamed in pain. The soothing drone abruptly changed, morphing into Oliver's voice and she was finally able to understand human speech once again.

"I am so sorry, Felicity, shh, it's okay. You are going to be okay." He spoke quietly but urgently as he gently shifted her in his arms.

Her eyes closed of their own accord as she realized she was either safe in the arms of her friend or had already died and left this earth for the next.

"Dig, I need you to bring the car around to the rear exit of the building, south side. Inform Lance that we have her and need an ambulance." His tone was hurried and his words were terse.

He sounded angry and Felicity just wanted to calm him down. She painstakingly opened her eyes and reached up with her left hand, belatedly realizing that her right arm was completely numb, and lightly touched his cheek. She was worried to find blood there, and her eyes narrowed in confusion as she tried to concentrate and understand why he was bleeding. Had something happened?

"You're bleeding." She mumbled the words haltingly.

"Felicity, I need you to focus on me for a second, look at me." His eyes were wide with concern when hers opened again. She hadn't realized they had closed in the first place.

"Dig and I are here Felicity, you are going home now. You are safe, I have you. Do you understand?"

She was so tired; all she wanted to do was close her eyes and go to sleep. Now that Oliver wasn't mad anymore, she no longer felt the need to enhance his calm. She couldn't help but wonder why he was mad in the first place. Maybe because he was bleeding, oh, he was bleeding.

Her eyes shot open again, but she couldn't focus on anything. It was just as dark as with her eyes closed. She panicked for a moment, until she concluded that her face was tucked into Oliver's shoulder and they were moving at a clipped pace. The darkness was his green hood, not her inability to see. She could smell him, all leather and sun, and could hear his heart pounding against her cheek. The rhythmic beat soothed her further and she closed her eyes, unable to remain conscious any longer.

When next her eyes opened she was blinded with glaringly bright lights and there were multiple faces looming over her. The ceiling was rushing overhead making her dizzy and nauseous. Those around her were barking orders and calling out numbers of no discernable consequence. She couldn't feel her right arm from the shoulder down and her back was blazing with an inferno that she didn't know existed. She couldn't focus on any one thing and that frightened her. All of her senses were assaulted, and really that just wasn't fair seeing as her being assaulted was her reason for being here in the first place. Her chest hurt all of a sudden and she couldn't breathe and that just sent those around her into more of a frenzy. She welcomed the darkness willingly and closed her eyes.

She awoke slowly, her eyes blinking at a snail's pace. Her nose itched something fierce, but when she tried to lift her hand to alleviate the annoying sensation her world exploded in pain and blaring alarms. She felt more than saw people rushing about her, but couldn't pay attention to any of them until she heard an urgent voice right at her ear, "...down Felicity. Calm down, you are okay. It's me, Oliver, I have you. You are safe and in the hospital."

She took in a shuddering breath and tried to regain her calm. It took her a moment, but she was finally able to breathe through the pain and settle down into her bed. Her back was twinging in pain, but nothing unbearable. At the moment it was her arm that hurt the most. It was in a sling, resting over her heart. Had she noticed that first, she wouldn't have tried to use it the scratch at her offending facial feature, stupid nose. Though, that was one of the few parts of her that didn't ache. "Okay, maybe my nose gets a pass this time around."

"Pardon?" Oliver smirked.

"Oh, I said that out loud, didn't I?" Felicity cringed as she heard her raspy voice, then proceeded to cough.

"Are you with me Felicity or still high on the good stuff?" Oliver quietly questioned as he grabbed a plastic cup of ice chips off her bedside table and proceeded to scoop some onto a spoon and into her mouth.

She sighed her approval and settled more comfortably into her hospital bed.

"Well, my nose itched, and when I woke up, I wanted to scratch it, and I almost exclusively scratch with my right hand. You know, right handed, better coordinated, dominate and all that. But I didn't realize my arm was well, whatever it is, and I went to move it and intense pain and well, I guess you were there for all that. But I was thinking that if I had known my right hand was out of commission, oh, crap, my right hand is out of commission! How am I going to type and hack, er, not-hack?" Here she paused to take a deep breath before continuing in a raspier voice than ever, "Well, I wouldn't have used it to scratch my nose, thus causing me pain, so I said my nose was stupid, but then I realized it was the only part of me that I could think of that didn't actually hurt at the moment, so I figured I would give it a pass. So, um, yeah."

After her lengthy ramble she went into another coughing fit. Her various alarms started sounding again, but quieted down when she did.

She heard a deep chuckle, which she could only attribute to her wandering tangent, and then Oliver followed with a simple heartfelt question, "Are you alright?"

He was feeding her more ice chips and admonished gently, "you need to keep the talking to a minimum. Your throat has been under quite a lot of stress. If nothing else, they had to intubate you. The doctor wanted me to inform him when you awakened. Can I page him?"

She slightly inclined her head, keeping all movements to bare necessity. She closed her eyes briefly, so thankful that she was out of there. She thought about "Ms. Smith" and what had happened to her. She imagined that Oliver had killed her, but she didn't know for certain, and she didn't want to ask. She wondered who she was and what she wanted with the Arrow. She never did say very much. She only ever actually spoke a handful of times. She asked her a few questions at first, then just beat her for days on end, and then only ever spoke again at the very end. Felicity realized all of a sudden that she had no idea how long she had been a captive. It was obvious it was nowhere near Oliver's stint on the Island, but it had to have been more than a few days. Her breathing increased into quick short gasps as her thoughts progressed and her heart rate was beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs. Her vision started to narrow to a fixed point until she felt a warm hand grasp hers.

"Shh, Felicity, breathe. Slowly with me; in, and out, in, and out, that's good. Slow and steady. Focus on me Felicity, look at me and breathe with me." His calm reassuring tone helped her to focus and stave off the panic attack that was dangerously close to taking over.

Not trusting herself to speak, the petite blonde weakly squeezed the hand within her grasp, silently thanking him for his help in calming her down. Just then there was a knock at the door, prompting her to startle and snap her head up in the direction of the now opening door. A large man, with a full head of dark brown hair and a white lab coat walked in glancing down at a clipboard. He confidently strode up to her bed with a smile and held out his hand to introduce himself.

She regretfully released Oliver's hand to grasp the doctor's in an awkward left handed shake as he spoke, "I'm your attending physician, Dr. Durfee. I was here when they brought you in, preformed all of your surgeries, save for the one for the lacerations to your back, and have been on call since. I have some information to go over with you, but I would like to check your stats first. If you have any questions, please let me know. Would you like to go over your medical history in private?" To his credit, he didn't look to Oliver when he spoke, but talked directly to Felicity.

"No, Oliver can stay. I would prefer it, actually." She was barely able to whisper before yet another coughing fit struck.

Oliver was quick to grab for the ice chips again, placing some in her open mouth. Instantly the coolness helped settle her aching throat, and she smiled at him gratefully.

When the brief exchange was over, the doctor spoke again, "You went through quite a traumatic experience from what we were able to gather from your injuries. Let's start from the top: You had a mild concussion, dislocated right shoulder, and a fractured right ulna; along with lacerations encircling both wrists. We found massive contusions covering your torso, though surprisingly there was not any internal bleeding. We discovered electrical burns in multiple places on your chest and abdomen. Your legs and back received the brunt of the damage, Ms. Smoak. Correct me if I am wrong, but you were beaten with either pipes or wooden bats? There was extensive bruising to the backs of your thighs, your feet and onto your buttocks and back. Thankfully none of these caused massive fractures, though there are minor fractures to quite a few bones in both feet. You have multiple cuts, minor abrasions and bruising."

He took a breath and continued, "Your back required special attention, especially at the behest of your friend here. Mr. Queen insisted that the best plastic surgeon work on your back, as it received the most damage and would require the most delicate work. You were whipped multiple times, eleven to be exact, with a leather whip. You had lacerations covering your lower back up to your shoulders. We stitched those to leave minimal scarring. There will be scars, Ms. Smoak, of that you can be certain, but we hope Dr. Williams' hard work has lessened their appearance greatly. Upon arrival you did go into cardiac arrest. We were able to shock you back with the paddles within just a few short moments. You were intubated by the first responders as you were having respiratory failure, but the tube was removed shortly after your last surgery. We only kept you medically sedated for about a day while you were in ICU. I apologize for being so long winded Ms. Smoak, Mr. Queen, I just wish to make sure you have a catalogue of every major injury. You were malnourished and dehydrated upon arrival, which we believe set back your recovery. You are not cleared to leave the hospital yet, but given another few days of observation, fluids and sustenance and to finish your IV antibiotics you will be released to the care of family. Are there any questions?"

The young doctor looked Felicity in the eye as he spoke, watching for her reactions to his information. She could tell he was concerned about her mental well being and worried that something he said could trigger an adverse reaction on her part. She had grasped Oliver's hand again sometime during the doc's monologue, not certain if she was trying to give or receive comfort. Oliver, though he had to have known of her injuries before, did not seem to be taking the news very well. His jaw was clenched, eyes hard and nostrils flaring, but he closed his eyes took a deep breath and visibly relaxed. He opened his eyes again and looked at the small blonde on the bed, "do you have any questions about anything?"

"No. Tired. Sleep?" She was exhausted and sore. Her eyes were getting harder and harder to keep open and her raw throat was on fire all of a sudden. She just wanted to sleep, and without even realizing it, tears sprang to her eyes unbidden. She was so tired, that was all she could think about. Sleep was the only thing that mattered in that moment. Oliver looked to Dr. Durfee and thanked him for the information that he provided. Felicity wasn't sure when the doctor left the room, but she felt a warm hand cup her face gently as Oliver leaned over and placed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I am so thankful we were able to find you in time. I was beginning to lose hope Felicity. Sleep, I'll stay and watch over you."

She softly hummed her understanding and then she was under.


End file.
